Open Door

The first time I tried that door, it was closed. It closed abruptly, me shocked when he showed up with my best friend at a party, and they kissed to announce their new romantic connection. I left to pick someone up and pulled over to cry in a parking lot. The second time I tried that door was nearly a year later. They had been split for six months. He and I had worked closely on a couple projects, and I felt myself drawn yet again. What I didn’t expect was reaching for the door and falling through it. Not just one door, but many. First: a friend who had a crush on him was over it and encouraged me to pursue him. Second: his sister, a close friend, offered her blessing, despite having said she never wanted him to date one of her friends again. Third: my new best friend was concerned, and even when we discussed it, her worried to the point of tears, I was unapproachably peaceful about it. One, two, three doors I fell through, surprised at the lack of resistance. So I fell straight to him, landing on a date, neither of us quite remembering how. It’s been two years since I tried that door. Eleven months since he proposed. In eight months I’ll try a new door, one labeled ‘wifey,’ even though he already calls me that.